Flow

by LadyLorena

THIS FIC UNDERGOING REVISIONS - You may want to wait to read it until this notice comes down if you want to read the updated version. Loki flows. He flows between male and female, brother, sister, and sometimes somewhere between or neither. But when he is left on Midgard, stripped of his long life and his magic, he must learn another, more difficult way to live.

59. Chapter 59

Loki does not stay late at Magda's and returns to his own bed to fall into a fitful sleep. He wakes before dawn and he cannot fall back asleep, so he tries to read. The book cannot break through his sadness and he puts it away. He makes coffee and sits in the dark in his living room, slowly sipping it, trying to just be. Even that is a struggle.

A few hours later, as the dawn cracks the grey sky, there is a knock on his door. It startles him, so he sets down his coffee and checks the peephole to see who it might be. There is no one there. He cautiously opens the door and peers out. No one. But there is a large box on his doorstep. He wonders if it is safe, but then realizes that he doesn't really care if it is or not, so he drags it inside. It is not as heavy as he thinks it should be. He tugs it to the living room and sits on the floor to open it. He carefully pulls back the tape and peels back the flaps. A glint of something gold. When he has it open, he stares, unable to command his hands to lift it out of the box. When he finally does, the metal is all-too familiar.

"My helmet."

He pulls it out of the box and stares at it. It is badly scarred, one of the horns dented from clattering from his head during the battle of New York. Something has been welded to the back of it and he prods the inexpertly managed repair.

Out of habit, he puts it on.

Something jolts him forward. Energy. Something sharp that plugs into his brain near the weld. It surges through his mind and he arches back, clutching the coffee table to keep from falling over. And then he recognizes it. Pure life itself. Yggdrasil. He gasps as everything becomes so clear and he begins to gain his bearings. He knows this feeling and it knows him. He tries a simple illusion- snakes on the table. The appear and vanish at his command. He laughs. He duplicates himself. It works. He dissolves the other him. He tries to shape-shift. It works.

He knows, though, that he cannot wear the helmet everywhere and he wonders just what enchantment has brought him such a gift. And then he wonders just who it was who left it at his door and what they will want in return.